


Rekindle.

by lohengrinn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ((or write)), Friends to Lovers, I do not know how to tag, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Fluff, Iwaizumi is a soft idiot, M/M, Oikawa has nightmares, Physician/Superstar AU, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Reunion, also i cant tag, but it isnt mentioned much after the middle, mentions of bokuaka, or summarize, self indulgent, so if thats what youre lookin for, then sorry this isnt the thing, there's no need, warning: this doesnt follow the au throughout, yes iwa is a doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 23:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lohengrinn/pseuds/lohengrinn
Summary: REKINDLE [ree-kin-dl]verb;1. to excite, stir up, or rouse anew2. to cause to begin burning again; ignite again:3. to begin to burn again; ignite again:Is a crush still a crush when it survived years of seperation, or is that the elusive thing that is Love? Oikawa Tooru was the last person Iwaizumi expected to see, but now that Oikawa is back - and unfortunately not better than ever - Iwaizumi's world has been turned upside down.





	Rekindle.

 

The day Aoba Johsai lost to Karasuno, they had promised to keep on playing volleyball together. But, as he sat at his high school graduation, listening to his principal’s final speech, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but acknowledge that it was a promise they could not keep. Oikawa was going where Iwaizumi couldn’t follow. It’s not that Iwaizumi didn’t want to follow Oikawa - hell, he’d give up almost everything to stay by his side - but it was just not possible. Oikawa was going to a prestigious college abroad, where he’d gotten a sports scholarship - because of course he had, it was Oikawa - and Iwaizumi to a college in Tokyo to study medicine.

  
  
One by one, as the principal called them, the students stood up from their seats and, cheered on by applause, went up on stage to collect their diplomas. His heart aching at the thought that these were really the final moments of his high school experience, Iwaizumi politely clapped as a girl he faintly remembered as one of Oikawa’s fans received her diploma, smiling widely and almost bouncing back to her seat. 

  
Out of the four third-years on the volleyball team, Matsukawa was the first to receive his diploma. He walked up on stage relaxed, with an amused grin on his face, but Iwaizumi couldn’t help but think he looked strange in his crisp school uniform and polished shoes. Something about the dress shoes and neatly tucked shirt was just... not him. Matsukawa shook the principal’s hand and strolled - there really was no better word for Mattsun’s unhurried gait - off stage. 

  
  
Hanamaki looked even more out of place than Matsukawa, and from where he was sitting five rows from the stage Iwaizumi could just about make out how his hands shook as he reached for the diploma. Hanamaki was holding back tears; putting on a brave face for the entire school - and his parents - who were watching him intently. He’d cried at the end of their match with Karasuno - which ended in the latter’s victory - but now, he was fighting gallantly against the hot tears welling up in his eyes.

  
  
“Year 3, Class 5. Oikawa Tooru.” Oikawa, who’d been sitting in the row in front of Iwaizumi with his class, got up out of his seat, tall figure easily standing out among the seated crowd. Limping faintly, face adorned with a self-confident grin, he walked up onto the stage. If Iwaizumi didn’t know better, he’d think Oikawa was excited - overjoyed, even - to be leaving Aoba Johsai. But Iwaizumi could see the anxiety, uncertainty and fear of the future under that carefully applied mask Oikawa wore. Just as Iwaizumi expected him to, Oikawa shook the principal’s hand with the perfect amount of carefully-measured enthusiasm and sent out a dazzling grin into the audience. Iwaizumi could hear some girls squeal faintly and rolled his eyes. Typical.   


  
Oikawa, Hanamaki, Matsukawa and everyone else had made the walk up to the stage look easy, Iwaizumi thought, registering the shaking of his knees and the racing of his heart. He could feel eyes boring into him from all sides, and the sensation only got worse when he stepped up onto the wooden stage. Now, he could see the entire sports hall, filled to the brim. Iwaizumi could see his parents in one of the rows, smiling proudly; his mother wiping a tear from her eye. He could also see a red-eyed Hanamaki, discreetly attempting to wipe his tears away - he’d probably broken down as soon as he’d sat down. Matsukawa was smiling at him easily from where he sat comfortably in the third row. It didn’t take long for Iwaizumi to find Oikawa - he stood out, with his perfectly styled hair and height. Something about seeing Oikawa sitting there, diploma in his lap and smiling at him -  _ directly _ at him - made tears prickle at Iwaizumi’s eyes. He wasn't going to cry, he’d told himself that twenty times in front of the mirror that morning. So, he turned his attention to the principal and collected his diploma to the sound of applause and the odd wolf-whistle from a classmate.

  
  
Aoba Johsai threw a graduation party every year, it was a tradition. A ballroom in a hotel would be rented out and the Student Council would organize a party to end all parties with meticulous care. Iwaizumi had seen the stressed out Council President running around the halls, juggling her own work as well as what was known as “The Party”. Iwaizumi didn’t want to go - he’d have much preferred a quieter outing with his team. But Oikawa, Makki and Mattsun wouldn’t have it. And thus, he found himself in an extravagantly decorated ballroom at a hotel next to some lake, wearing a suit and leaning against the back wall, watching as Oikawa danced with the fifteenth girl that night. Matsukawa appeared at his side, bringing a glass of goodness-knows-what, but Iwaizumi accepted it anyway. Makki soon followed with a plate full of creampuffs, grinning widely but not quite wide enough to hide his reddened eyes.   


  
The music was loud, Iwaizumi could feel the vibrations in his chest with every beat and he wanted out. To make it worse he had to watch Oikawa - stupid, perfect Oikawa - smile and dance with everyone, when Iwaizumi would prefer to be selfish and have his childhood friend to himself so they could talk. Spend one last night walking down the beach and hunting bugs like they did when they were children - well, Iwaizumi was usually the one hunting bugs, Oikawa just ran away from them - far away from the thumping bass and flashing lights. As if he’d read Iwaizumi’s thoughts, Oikawa appeared at his side out of nowhere, all smiles and “Do you want to take a walk, Iwa-chan?”. Iwaizumi just nodded - Oikawa probably wouldn’t hear him over the music anyway - and took one final gulp of his drink before depositing it on a nearby table and following Oikawa out the door.   


  
The wind is cold against Iwaizumi’s cheeks. It plays with Oikawa’s hair, tousling it from where he’d most likely spent twenty minutes styling it that morning. But neither of them seem to mind, lost in their thoughts as they walk side by side. The water makes a soothing sound in the quiet night, the music and laughter having long faded. Oikawa is the first to break the silence, and Iwaizumi’s gut twists, knowing this conversation was inevitable all along.   


  
“So... We graduated.” Iwaizumi just grunts in response, unsure what to say. 

 

Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind, as he rambles on. Iwaizumi lets him, knowing that Oikawa had a goal when he brought him outside, and that he will say what he wants said soon enough. So he listens, as Oikawa comments on how the Principal’s hair was definitely  _ not  _ real, and how various of his classmates’ burst out crying as soon as they’d left the hall. But, Oikawa’s river of words eventually runs out, and he falls silent, standing there, kicking rocks into the lake. 

 

“I don’t want this to be over.” Oikawa admits, and Iwaizumi understands the hidden meaning: I don’t want to stop playing volleyball with you. I don’t want us - you, me, Mattsun, Makki - to go our separate ways and forget each other. I don’t want this friendship to just be a photograph. Iwaizumi hesitates again. It’s true they have ‘all’ summer, but in reality, their summer is just two weeks long. Oikawa leaves for his foreign college in two weeks to settle down and get acquainted with the area. Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa have two months together, but that is also not enough. So, he stays silent, frozen like a statue until Oikawa sniffles and tears began to fall down his cheeks. Then, he silently holds Oikawa close to him, letting his best friend of so, so many years cry his heart out, listening to his broken sobs and feeling the tremors shaking his body. Nobody will ever hear of this, not even Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Oikawa will act like everything is fine, and the only witnesses of the break down at the lake will be himself, Iwaizumi and the moon.   


  
Oikawa eventually straightens up, wipes his tears and splashes cold water on his face. He smiles up at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi wishes he hadn’t. He’d looked so broken it made Iwaizumi’s heart clench. With his hair tousled from the wind, puffy eyes, red cheeks, lips still trembling, and the defeated look in his eyes, Oikawa makes Iwaizumi want to hold him and tell him everything will be fine. That he will not be forgotten like he fears, and that Iwaizumi will do his damn best to find him again as soon as he can. That  _ this _ is not the end of  _ them _ .

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi Hajime is twenty–four years old, and to a stranger, it might seem that everything is going perfectly for him. A handsome, charming young man with a stable, well–paying job and a bunch of good, dependable friends to play volleyball with on weekends. What else could he possibly want?

But as Iwaizumi sits in a bar, as the Saturday night tradition entails, with Matsukawa excitedly telling Kuroo about something that happened in the office the day before, Iwaizumi finds himself feeling empty, as if he’s missing something vital. Truth is, he’d felt this way for a long time, but the rush and stress of college stopped him from stopping to think about it. And now, that he has time and peace to think about it, the feeling is getting unbearable.   
  


“Hey, Iwaizumi.” Mattsun is looking at him over his glass of whiskey, concerned. Beside him, Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”   
  
“Yeah.” Iwaizumi grunts in response, reaching to take a sip of his drink. The alcohol burns at his throat, but he continues to drink it. Himself and Matsukawa attended the same high school, played on the same team, and later studied at same college. Mattsun was how Iwaizumi met Kuroo – and Bokuto, who isn't at the weekly meet-up at their favourite bar, skipping it in favor of visiting an old friend from Fukurodani – or rather, Mattsun dragged, physically  _ dragged  _ Iwaizumi out the door and to a party being organized at one of the many clubs near the campus. Iwaizumi wasn't sure exactly how they even began to talk to Bokuto  _ or _ Kuroo, but he remembers waking up with a raging headache, sprawled on the sofa, with Matsukawa soundly asleep under the kitchen table, and almost tripping over Bokuto – who'd been snoring quietly on the floor, a bottle of beer still tucked under his arm – on his way to the bathroom, where he’d found Kuroo curled up in the bathtub.   
  
“You just completely zoned out on us.” Kuroo remarks, resting his chin in his hand. Iwaizumi shrugs, muttering an excuse about being tired. It doesn’t reach either of his friends, lost in the loud music and murmur of conversation. Matsukawa restarts the dropped topic, and Iwaizumi returns to his thoughts once more.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi stares at the papers in front of him, but is unable to actually  _ read _ them. He gives up after twenty minutes, and sits back in his chair, rubbing his nose. The afternoon light is streaming into his office through the blinds, and somewhere in the distance, he can hear the phone ring in the main office. It’s peaceful today – only one patient scheduled, early in the morning – leaving him with plenty of time to catch up on overdue paperwork. Or stare blankly at the clock on his desk, right next to the picture of Lady, his border collie, like he is currently doing.

 

He turns to his laptop, which is idly showing a bunch of colourful bubbles bouncing around on the screen, and opens up his favourite sports news website. He remembers visiting the same website often as a student in high school – back then, his main interest had been the Boys’ High School Volleyball section, but as time went on, he’d been checking it less and less. His former underclassmen – Kyoutani, Yahaba, Kunimi, Kindaichi – had all long graduated from Aoba Johsai. The current team was  _ good _ but it wasn’t  _ his _ Seijoh. 

 

Something catches his attention right away, on the main page. A name, all too familiar: Oikawa Tooru. Iwaizumi doesn’t even finish reading the headline before he’s clicked it and the article is loading up. “VOLLEYBALL STAR OIKAWA TOORU INJURED IN LATE NIGHT TRAINING SESSION”. Iwaizumi’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach as he begins to read. “ _ Reliable sources claim the star setter of Japan’s national volleyball team has been injured in a solo, late-night training session and will not be able to represent the country in the upcoming season. _ ” Iwaizumi swallows. It sounds like something Oikawa would do; no matter how much Iwaizumi had tried to discourage him from overworking himself, he almost always ended up training overtime – even when the stakes were on the level of high school volleyball, not the international title. He’d already worked his knee into a brace. “ _ We await confirmation of the rumors from Oikawa’s agency, the team’s coach or Oikawa himself _ .” It wasn’t the first time news outlets got information about Oikawa’s supposed injury from “reliable sources” and blew up the internet – news of a supposed boyfriend of Oikawa’s had the same effect – Iwaizumi knew better than to get worried over unconfirmed news. But he couldn’t help but see the image of Oikawa, crumpled on the floor, after his knee gave out under him during practice,  _ or _ Oikawa, clinging onto Iwaizumi’s shirt the entire drive to the hospital. 

 

Unfortunately, news outlets were the only thing Iwaizumi could rely on to get information on his former captain and long-time friend. They had planned to keep in touch, but when Oikawa went to university in America, they stopped communicating – the Skype calls went from daily, to weekly, to monthly… and then disappeared completely. Even after they both graduated and Iwaizumi went on to become a doctor – and Oikawa got recruited onto the Japanese national team – neither of them got back in touch with the other. Iwaizumi didn’t even try, and  _ god _ was he ashamed of it.

 

His phone rang, loud and shrill in the quiet room. 

 

“You think it’s real?” It was Matsukawa. Iwaizumi could hear the quiet hum of music and chatter in the background. Mattsun was at work – he worked at a tattoo parlor not far from Iwaizumi’s clinic, and had made quite the name for himself as a tattoo artist. Iwaizumi was yet to commit to getting a piece done for himself, but he’d seen some of Mattsun’s work.

 

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, playing dumb. He knows exactly what Mattsun’s referring to – whenever a piece of news about Oikawa cropped up, Mattsun would call him almost immediately to discuss it. It happened less and less nowadays, but the tradition was still yet to die.

 

“The article. Oikawa. I  _ know  _ you’ve seen it.” Mattsun sounds impatient, and Iwaizumi can  _ see _ him sitting in his chair, legs crossed, tapping impatiently with his pen, still wearing his latex gloves.

 

“I hope not.” Iwaizumi gives up his teasing. “I hope it’s not true.”

 

“It sounds like our captain though.” Iwaizumi could practically  _ see _ Mattsun pull a face. A beat of silence, as they both reminisce about high school, before Mattsun speaks again. “I wonder how he is… how  _ they _ are; Makki and Oikawa… Yahaba, Kyoutani– all of them, really.”

 

“Oikawa’s living his dream.” Iwaizumi says, quietly.

 

“He doesn’t need us anymore...” Mattsun’s bitter tone is right in his ear, Iwaizumi can’t help but feel the same. He’s  _ thought _ it before, but it’s the first time in all these years that either of them has voiced it. Oikawa doesn’t need them anymore; a talented –  _ exceptionally _ talented – setter like him that can bring out the best in any teammate… of course he doesn’t need them. He has the professional players.

 

Something sinks even deeper in Iwaizumi’s chest. “Hey, Mattsun. I got work to do so–”

  
“I know I know, it’s not the time to be bitter.” Mattsun laughs. “Have fun with your nerdy stuff. I’ve got a client ready to go, unless they pass out from fear like the last one.” Matsukawa’s bitter tone is gone, but Iwaizumi can  _ feel _ the heavy aura barely lifting from his shoulders. He says goodbye, and the room grows silent again.

 

He glances at the picture included in the article. It’s from last year’s semi-finals. It’s a rather flattering shot, Iwaizumi thinks – Oikawa, ready to set a ball, hair still annoyingly perfect despite the physical strain and eyes alive, locked on their target. Oikawa in his element, doing what he loves. Oikawa at his peak.

 

Iwaizumi sighs, and closes the tab. Thoughts of what once was and what could have been float around his head but he stubbornly pushes them back. He picks up his pen and begins to write.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi hopes his forced smile can at least  _ pass _ for pleasant. The man’s handshake is firm, a bit too-firm. Like someone that’s used to attention and being set upon a pedestal, he seems to expect Iwaizumi to bow at his feet. Iwaizumi just forces a smile and shakes his hand. The secretary stands by, nervously looking from one to the other. The mysterious guest sits down without any prompting, and Iwaizumi awkwardly sinks down into his seat. It creaks.  _ Great _ .

 

“I hope for your complete confidentiality in this matter, Doctor Iwaizumi.”

 

“Of course.” Iwaizumi replies, and smiles again. His cheeks feel stiff. He’s used to requests like this – after all, he’s rehabilitated all kinds of people, from world-class singers who injured themselves while preparing for their next big hit to local-league players who didn’t want the news to leak out for fear of losing support. Confidentiality is no problem for him; Mattsun, Kuroo and Bokuto have long learned to not ask about his job. They agree on a time – the man still does not give a name for the soon-to-be patient he is representing – and the man gives him a stiff handshake.

 

He stops at the door, and Iwaizumi looks up from where he’d been writing in the appointment. “I do insist, Doctor Iwaizumi – this visit is of the  _ highest confidentiality _ . The press cannot know I have been here.”

 

Iwaizumi just smiles and assures him of his trustworthiness, while simultaneously feeling as if he’d somehow got involved with some shady business straight from Bokuto’s beloved thriller movies. Hopefully he’s not the minor character that gets killed halfway through the movie as motivation for the protagonist.

 

* * *

 

_ This is too damn early _ . Iwaizumi glares at his phone. 4:00am glares back at him. The mysterious man from earlier – probably a coach or personal trainer of some sort – insisted the visit would be outside of normal clinic hours, at 6am. He claimed it was necessary to “avoid attention” and offered to pay triple for it. Normally, waking up two hours earlier wouldn’t be  _ horrible _ , but Iwaizumi had the fortune of forgetting about this early rise, and had gotten dragged out for a few drinks by Kuroo, Mattsun and Bokuto, who’s fiance Akaashi was visiting. The excuse was something about celebrating Akaashi’s arrival.

 

Iwaizumi decides to just get the morning over with and throws the covers back, sucking in a sharp breath at the cold morning air. Usually, the coldness of his room is refreshing. Today, it’s like a slap to the face. Lady looks up from where she’s lying at the foot of his bed, and tilts her head.

 

“I know, it’s too early to be awake.” Iwaizumi tells her, and gives her a good scratch behind the ears. She wags her tail at him, and follows him to the kitchen, clearly hoping for scraps. She doesn’t get any, but a good belly rub and a kiss are given in compensation, before Iwaizumi heads out the door.

 

_ The clinic is too damn bright _ . Iwaizumi finds he’s complaining at absolutely everything. From hitting four red lights in a row, despite the streets being eerily empty, to the unpleasant breeze of the morning on his walk from his car to the clinic. Thankfully, the secretary has a mug of coffee ready to soothe his foul mood, and announces that the man had confirmed his appointment and should be arriving shortly.

 

Iwaizumi sets his mug down on his desk and drops ungracefully into his seat. The day’s files are arranged neatly in the corner of his otherwise messy desk. He sighs, and slowly begins to tidy it, figuring that his  _ high and mighty _ guest would not be impressed by a doctor with a desk looking like a… a… hell, Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to liken it to.

 

There’s a knock at his door just as he’s stashed away the last book and trashed the last useless scrap of paper. The secretary peeks in, a playful grin on her face. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. He hadn’t seen her this excited in his whole time at the clinic.

 

“Your patient is here.” She announces, voice a little higher with excitement. As she leaves to fetch the patient, Iwaizumi hurriedly fixes his clothes and runs a hand through his hair, already rehearsing a greeting in his head.

 

The door opens and the greeting flies straight out of his head. 

 

“O-Oikawa?” Iwaizumi manages, and Oikawa offers him a bleak smile. Iwaizumi stands and  _ stares _ . It’s Oikawa, there’s no denying it. Iwaizumi’s eyes scan him up and down; mixing medical expertise with his own experience as Oikawa’s …  _ former  _ ... best friend. Oikawa’s leaning on a  _ crutch _ , clearly favouring his left leg over his right. He’s thinner than he used to be, face bonier than Iwaizumi remembers, dark circles under his eyes. His hair is still perfectly curled though.

 

Oikawa sits down, easing himself into the patient’s chair gingerly, but Iwaizumi is  _ still _ staring. “Oikawa.” He repeats. “ _ Tooru _ .”

 

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa gives him the same, sad smile from before. Iwaizumi involuntarily feels warm at the sound of his old nickname, despite how much he used to curse it.

 

Iwaizumi eyes Oikawa’s knee, stretched out in front of him and his stomach twists. He sits down heavily, and looks at his old friend over his desk. Oikawa just looks back at him, silent.

 

“What did you do?”  _ Not  _ the best way to ask a patient the cause for their visit, but the shock of Oikawa’s appearance in  _ his _ clinic has shaken all professionalism clean from his system. Iwaizumi clears his throat and tries again. “What’s wrong with your knee?”  _ This time _ , he wants to say. Because it is not the first time.

 

As he listens to Oikawa talk, Iwaizumi is struggling to remain professional.  _ You’re a doctor and he’s a patient. You can talk later. You’re a doctor, he’s a patient- _ he tells himself. 

 

And, instead of giving out to him like he’d used to, Iwaizumi sits and listens and takes notes like he should. And by the time Oikawa is finished, Iwaizumi is glad he hadn’t given out to him; Oikawa  _ knows _ . He knows he fucked up, he knows his entire career is on the line. Iwaizumi does what he would with any other patient; examines the knee, reads the file left by Oikawa’s previous doctor, and talks Oikawa through the rehabilitation process. Oikawa listens quietly; he doesn’t make any remark, just takes everything in with the air of a child that had been scolded. It breaks Iwaizumi’s heart.

 

Oikawa has torn his Anterior Cruciate Ligament - a common injury in volleyball. Iwaizumi had seen it happen once before; the pop, and the crumpling form of the opposing team’s player after landing awkwardly. ACL does not heal, so Oikawa had surgery - Iwaizumi guesses that  _ too _ was all done in secret - and now faces six to nine months of rehabilitation. Iwaizumi is to be the doctor supervising his rehabilitation.

 

“I’m sorry.” Oikawa’s turns around in the door as he’s leaving, voice quiet. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at him in question. “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa repeats.

 

“Why are you sorry?” Iwaizumi’s voice is equally quiet.

 

“I didn’t keep my promise.” Oikawa says. “I promised not to work myself into injury again.” Oikawa’s head is hung low, and Iwaizumi resists an urge to lean over his desk and hug him. It was true - Iwaizumi remembers that moment, standing at the airport, about to bid Oikawa goodbye. ‘ _ Take care of yourself, okay _ ?’. He sighs.

 

“Don’t apologize.” 

 

Oikawa gives him a sad smile and shuts the door behind him.

 

The scent of Oikawa’s cologne still lingers in the room, and Iwaizumi twirls the paper with his handwriting on it around between his fingers. Oikawa had been strangely quiet, but he  _ had _ written his new phone number on the back of a business card and smiled at Iwaizumi hopefully. Iwaizumi tucks the card into his shirt pocket and looks down at Oikawa’s file, still open on his desk. He sighs again.  
  


* * *

 

 

Iwaizumi slides a stray dog toy out of the way with his foot. It’s a Saturday, his blissful day off. The weather is horrid - rain comes crashing against his windows in waves, turning the Tokyo skyline into a gray mist. His morning plans for a jog with Lady have obviously been cancelled. His  _ afternoon _ plans, however, involved rushing to return his flat into a state of semi-cleanliness before Oikawa came along.

 

It’s been less than a week since Oikawa showed up at Iwaizumi’s clinic and made him forget his manners. If Iwaizumi remembers correctly, yesterday was his first session with the physician. Today, Oikawa had more or less invited himself to Iwaizumi’s for dinner - not that Iwaizumi is complaining.

 

“Didn’t think you were much of a pet person,” Oikawa says, mouth full of food as Lady sits by his chair, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “How long have you had her?”

 

_ If you’d replied to my messages then you’d know _ . Iwaizumi thinks, but resists the temptation. Now is not the time to be bitter about what could’ve been; Oikawa is here and clearly worse for wear, so all Iwaizumi can do is focus on re-building the friendship that had crumbled over time. “Three years.” he says instead. “Bokuto found her wandering around, starved and frozen, but couldn’t keep animals in his flat.” Iwaizumi pauses for a mouthful of food. “She was meant to stay with me until we found her owner but no-one came up and well… I got attached.” Iwaizumi scratches Lady behind the ears; she’d since gotten what she wanted from Oikawa and returned to her owner’s heel.

 

Oikawa smiles at him warmly; perhaps for the first time since they’d seen one another; and Iwaizumi feels warm on the inside. He drops his gaze to his food, redness teasing at his neck and ears. If Oikawa notices, he doesn’t let on. “Bokuto played for Fukurodani, didn’t he?” Iwaizumi nods. “Why didn’t he go professional?”

 

Iwaizumi swallows. “He played for his college team, but he said that without his old team it wasn’t fun anymore - or something like that.” He shrugs. “But he really likes his current job, so it all worked out. He’s engaged to his old setter.”

 

“That’s cute,” says Oikawa. There’s a twinkle in his eye and Iwaizumi immediately knows what he’s going to ask before Oikawa even starts to speak. “And you, Iwa-chan?”

 

Iwaizumi glares at him across the table, but Oikawa just smiles. “No.”

 

“No what?” Oikawa teases. “No, you’re not seeing anyone, no, you’re not  _ engaged _ but seeing someone or no, you won’t be telling me?” Oikawa rests his chin on his hand and gives Iwaizumi a smug smirk. For a second, it seems the old Oikawa, the playful, teasing Seijoh captain is back.

 

“No, I’m not seeing anyone.” Iwaizumi clarifies.  _ But I’ve heard about your many dating scandals _ . He doesn’t say it.

 

“Why not? A handsome guy like you not seeing anyone?”

 

“Didn’t have the time.” It’s not entirely true but Iwaizumi is not about to tell him that for the first part of his college career, he was still too hung up on a certain boy to move on, and then, when he seemingly got over him, everyone had already paired up.

 

“Pity.” Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “Mattsun tells me you’ve been keeping up with articles about me.” Oikawa changes the topic away from Iwaizumi’s uneventful love life, acknowledging Iwaizumi doesn’t want to pursue the topic further.

 

_ Mattsun you traitor. _ Iwaizumi thinks. “Is that a problem? I wanted to know how you were doing, since-” Iwaizumi cuts himself off.  _ Since you stopped telling me how you were _ . “It was the only source of information I could get about you.”

 

Oikawa’s shoulders sag, and the old Oikawa is gone. “I’m sorry.” At the broken, genuinely sorry tone, Iwaizumi opens his mouth to speak, but Oikawa pulls a face and perks back up. “ _ But _ , we can always make up for lost time, can’t we, Iwa-chan?” Iwaizumi feels like he just witnessed a mid-life crisis in the space of a second.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi hums to himself as he jogs along the pavement. The spare keys to Oikawa’s Tokyo apartment jingle in his pocket alongside his own keys. It’s been three weeks since Oikawa Tooru showed up in his Tokyo clinic out of the blue. Oikawa had completely reinstalled himself in Iwaizumi’s life. They hung out most days Iwaizumi was off work, and since Iwaizumi had given Oikawa a spare set of keys to his apartment, he’d come home more often to the sight of Oikawa lazing around on his couch, Lady lovingly licking his face. It was very domestic, very homely, and it made Iwaizumi’s stomach churn with what ifs. Sometimes Mattsun would be there too, teasing Oikawa about something or other. Kuroo and Bokuto were also frequent guests.

 

Oikawa is again a vital part of Iwaizumi’s life  - they’d even started sending each other ‘good morning’ texts like they used to. Iwaizumi would get funny cat videos - which Oikawa watched by the hundreds every day when he couldn’t practice, and Iwaizumi would yell at Oikawa through text to go to bed if it got too late. He felt like he was seventeen again, which wasn’t an unwelcome feeling.

 

Iwaizumi takes the stairs, not bothering to wait for the lift. Five floors and one hundred and twenty steps later, Iwaizumi is standing at the door to Oikawa’s apartment. He doesn’t knock, just unlocks the door and steps inside, kicking off his shoes before thinking twice and picking them up and neatly standing him on the shoe rack.

 

The house is quiet, and Iwaizumi frowns. Usually, Oikawa would have some music playing in the background as he sat around on his laptop - his knee forbid him from doing very much - or would have the TV creating background noise. Iwaizumi steps further into the dark apartment; the blinds aren’t even open.

 

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi calls. A muffled sound reaches his ears from the bedroom. Something twists in his gut. The door is slightly ajar, and from the corridor, he can see Oikawa lying curled up on the bed, covers piled up above him. Iwaizumi gently kneels on the bed and rests a hand what would be Oikawa’s shoulder. “Hey, Oikawa.” He repeats, gently. He can feel Oikawa stiffen, and gently tugs back the covers.

 

Oikawa’s face is red and puffy, hands clamped over his mouth to muffle his sobs. Iwaizumi’s heart breaks at the sight. He’s moving before he thinks, scooping Oikawa up into his arms and holding him close. The pose is awkward; Oikawa half lying half sitting, face hidden in Iwaizumi’s chest, still swathed in blankets, Iwaizumi kneeling on the bed, supporting his weight. Iwaizumi gently strokes Oikawa’s hair as he clings to his jacket, inhaling deeply.

 

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s arms wrap around his neck. Iwaizumi just holds him closer. He’s never been good with words, but he knows -  _ hopes _ \- Oikawa understands. “ _ Iwa-chan _ .” Oikawa’s voice is hoarse, broken. “It’s over.”

 

Iwaizumi’s brain begins to race. “What’s over?” He asks, his worry audible in his voice. Oikawa sniffles.

 

“Everything; I can’t go back to the team.” Oikawa lets the words tumble out, spilling all of his thoughts and fears, voice high, breathless. He’s needed this; Iwaizumi realizes, and hates himself for not noticing his friend’s distress sooner. “The treatment’s taking too long, by the time I’ll be up to speed, the team will be preparing for the Olympics, and I won’t be a certain card so the coach won’t play me, and who knows if I’ll even be able to play again, and…  _ and I won’t mean anything anymore _ .” 

 

“ _ Tooru _ .” Iwaizumi cuts him off before Oikawa can work himself into another breakdown. At the sound of his name, Oikawa stops mid-word. 

 

A beat of silence passes in the room. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. ‘ _ And I won’t mean anything anymore _ .’ the words bounce around Iwaizumi’s head. He’s never been good with words, but he isn’t sure if Oikawa can understand him without them after all these years, or if the mutual understanding they’d shared died down in his memory. 

 

Iwaizumi desperately wishes he could say Oikawa will get better. He wishes he could use his medical expertise and guarantee Oikawa’s return to the court. But he can’t. Because nothing is certain and  _ damn him _ if he’s going to give Oikawa false hope that will only break him later.

 

“You’ll be okay.” Iwaizumi says quietly, hoping that he understands. “You’ll be okay.” He repeats. Oikawa nods fervently, like a child desperately trying to believe what it’s been told. A fond memory jumps to the front of Iwaizumi’s mind at the sight, and he chuckles, quietly. 

 

Oikawa looks up at him, watery-eyed and confused. “Why are you laughing?”

 

“I remembered when we were kids. I told you aliens weren’t real and you started to cry.” Iwaizumi can feel the laughter threatening to spill over. He can see it in Oikawa’s eyes that he too, remembers it. “And I didn’t want you to cry, so I kept repeating: ‘ _ Aliens are real and they love you! _ ’ over and over. You nodded like you just did.”

 

Oikawa laughs, shrill and true, wiping tears from his cheeks. “I remember that; I was saying I wanted the aliens to take me to space and you got jealous that you’d be left behind!” Oikawa dissolves into laughter, and Iwaizumi feels like he’d done something right. Oikawa clutches onto his shirt and laughs so hard he cries. His laughter is contagious, and Iwaizumi too, soon finds himself wheezing with fits of laughter, unable to stop. It’s not that funny, not  _ really _ , but in that moment, all they can do is laugh at the memory of seven-year-old Iwaizumi desperately comforting a seven-year-old Oikawa.

 

When their laughter dies down, Iwaizumi finds himself lying on his side beside Oikawa, who’d half unwound himself from his blanket cocoon. Oikawa is still in fits of giggles, no longer laughing at the story but simply too wound up to stop. Iwaizumi watches him fondly, feeling like he’s a kid again. The thin streaks of light seeping in through the blinds catch on the gold flecks in Oikawa’s hair, making him glow. Despite himself, Iwaizumi reaches up and brushes a strand of hair out of Oikawa’s eyes.

 

“It’ll be okay.” Iwaizumi says, and leans over to gently kiss Oikawa’s forehead. Oikawa stops giggling. Iwaizumi pulls away.

 

“You’ve always been here to comfort me.” Oikawa says, his eyes wide, but fond, so fond that Iwaizumi’s heart skips a beat.

 

“I’ll be here as long as you need me.” Iwaizumi says, softly. The words flow right out, he doesn’t even have to  _ think _ about them. Oikawa’s presence wakes an easiness in him, one where he doesn’t have to guard his words and just say what comes to mind. Oikawa’s like an oasis of peace and serenity in the difficult, overly-formal corporate world that’s caught Iwaizumi in it’s grasps.

 

Oikawa just smiles and says nothing, for once, content to lie there, heads so close together that their noses might touch.

 

* * *

 

As a full-time medical worker, “time off” is not something Iwaizumi has much of. When he does have a day off by some miracle, he delights in it. Today is one of those miracle days. The sky is a brilliant blue, and the air is chilly - not to the point of being bothersome, but refreshing. Oikawa walks beside him, fur-rimmed hood over his head, nose buried in one of Iwaizumi’s scarves. Iwaizumi doesn’t recall when Oikawa nicked it from his closet, but he did.

 

Iwaizumi feels their shoulders brush as they walk, and feels his ears grow hot - which is partially welcome; it’s a cold day. He pushes open a door, it’s brick-red paint partially peeling, and a bell jingles. The young girl behind the counter looks up and gives them both her widest smile.

 

Oikawa keeps his hood up as they’re guided through the labyrinth of tables and chairs, few of them occupied due to the early hour. The cafe is one of Iwaizumi’s favourites - not that he’d admit it to just anyone. It’s small, cozy and homely, the rustic decor only adding to the warm aura. And their food is absolutely delicious. It was only fitting he’d bring Oikawa here on their first proper outing.

 

Oikawa orders a crepe with berries, cream and chocolate, and a bizarre coffee that sounds like it’s made with unicorn tears and faeries’ laughs. It has Iwaizumi raising an eyebrow. 

 

“This early in the morning?” He asks. Oikawa just shrugs.

 

When their food and drinks arrive, Iwaizumi decides that Oikawa’s order might as well  _ be _ made from the aforementioned magical ingredients. Sitting in a tall glass, it’s a pretty, milky-brown with swirls of a darker, chocolatey colour. A mountain of whipped cream sits on top, swirled with chocolate syrup and drizzled with chocolate flakes. Oikawa’s crepes look equally delicious.

 

“You really like the look of it, huh?” Oikawa asks. Iwaizumi looks up from the masterpiece on Oikawa’s plate to meet his eyes. Oikawa grins. “Here, try some.”

 

Without much ado, Oikawa scoops some of his crepe onto his fork and holds it out in front of Iwaizumi, offering. And who is Iwaizumi to refuse the scent of a still-warm crepe, the sight of fresh, home-made whipped cream. Iwaizumi leans in and takes what’s being offered to him.

  
It tastes like heaven in a bite - a perfect mix of the cream, the crepe and the berries. Iwaizumi thinks that if ambrosia was real, it would taste like this. Or perhaps ambrosia  _ is _ real, because Iwaizumi feels a little bit younger.

 

Oikawa withdraws his hand, and tilts his head, waiting for a verdict.

 

“That’s… really good.”

 

Oikawa grins, brighter than the sun. “Of course it is! I have great taste - you should know that, Iwa-chan!”

 

Iwaizumi looks down at his own order - waffles, with chocolate syrup and a side of pistachio ice-cream - and up at Oikawa.

 

“Do you want to try some of mine?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. Oikawa nods eagerly. Iwaizumi prepares a bite at the end of his fork, and freezes. Oikawa’s waiting there, for Iwaizumi to feed him, and even though Iwaizumi had just had it done to himself, the intimacy of the situation only strikes him now. He blushes, deep, deep red. Iwaizumi isn’t going to back out now, though, and Oikawa gets his delightful morsel. He chews on it and visibly brightens.

 

“You’ve got some chocolate… Here.” Iwaizumi reaches over and with a gentle swipe with a paper tower takes care of the problem. He freezes. He feels like he’s in some sort of cliche romance movie that Bokuto loves to watch and cry over. Oikawa’s munching happily, chocolate-brown eyes sparkling with delight. Iwaizumi’s half-leaning over the table, hand still gently caressing Oikawa’s face. If this were a movie, now would be the time for  _ You Are My Destiny _ to start playing.

 

Iwaizumi’s eyes dart to the side, and he makes eye contact with their young waitress, who promptly hides her face behind a serving tray.  _ Crap _ . Iwaizumi flushes a deeper red, and quickly retracts his hand. Oikawa doesn’t seem to be flustered in the slightest. He gives Iwaizumi an angelic smile.

 

“Is something wrong, Iwa-chan?” 

 

“O-our server…” Iwaizumi manages, and trails off. What’s he to say?

 

“She’s been watching us for quite some time.” Oikawa says with a shrug of his elegant shoulders - Iwaizumi frowns; why hadn’t he noticed how  _ nice _ oikawa looks in simple button ups before? - and Iwaizumi wants to punch him.  _ Why didn’t you say something, idiot? _ “I think she’s a fan.” He smiles and waves at the girl, who gives a tiny little squeak and hides behind the register.

 

“Oh.” Iwaizumi just says, and eats his embarrassment away. The waffles are lovely, nothing like the ones Iwaizumi tries and fails to make some mornings. 

 

It turns out the server was, indeed, a fan of Oikawa’s, and she gleefuly accepts an autograph - Iwaizumi takes a photo of them together when asked, and has a feeling it’ll end up on the wall of the establishment. The bell jingles as they leave, stomachs full and spirits high.

 

The street is busier now and Oikawa pulls up his fluffy hood in an attempt to go unrecognized.  _ It’s the cons of being a celebrity, Iwa-chan! _ He’d said. Iwaizumi had just rolled his eyes at him. 

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi leans against the lamppost as he waits for Oikawa to emerge from his apartment building. Lady sits patiently at his heel, wagging her tail slowly. The day isn’t  _ fantastic _ but it isn’t horrible either. It’s nice enough for a walk through the park with Lady and a BBQ restaurant outing with friends, after.

 

The glass door of the apartment building slides open and Lady’s tail goes from slow, lazy flicks to a windscreen wiper in a rainstorm. Oikawa appears, limping slightly, but grinning from ear to ear. When Lady has gotten her customary amount of petting, Oikawa and Iwaizumi proceed on their way, Lady trotting in front of them, gently pulling on her leash. 

 

The park is decently full; children had not yet finished school, so it is mostly elderly, retired couples taking a stroll or walking their dog - or dogs. They pass a couple with seven or eight dogs of different shapes and sizes and Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi, eyes shining.

 

“Iwa-chan, that’s… that’s  _ my ultimate goal in life _ !”

 

Iwaizumi laughs at him, and slides his hand under Oikawa’s hood to ruffle his hair. While Oikawa is still trying to return his hair to it’s previous state, Iwaizumi looks back at the couple. Something throbs inside his chest - longing, perhaps? They lean on one another, walking slowly surrounded by their seven adorable mutts, an image of peace in the whirlwind world.

 

Oikawa continues to croon over every single dog they pass, sometimes stopping and asking with an angelic smile: “Can I pet your dog?” As Oikawa switches from petting stranger’s dogs to giving Lady belly rubs when she gets jealous, Iwaizumi decides he might as well sit down on a bench - they weren’t doing much walking anyway.

 

Iwaizumi too, loves dogs, but in this moment, he’s struggling to even register the passing four-legged friend-shaped creatures. Oikawa has effectively taken up all of his attention. The brunet is positively  _ shining _ today, in the company of “so many good dogs!”. So, Iwaizumi sits on his bench, and feels warm inside.

 

Over the past couple of weeks since Oikawa had re-installed himself in his life, Iwaizumi had experienced something he could only describe as the “rekindling” of old feelings. Of dreams, forgotten hopes and things that could have been but never quite happened. Of summer nights spent lying in the Oikawa’s back yard, trying to work up the nerve to just  _ lean over and kiss him, you idiot _ ! Of fleeting, gentle touches. Of falling asleep on one another on the bus, and then being careful not to move too much as to not wake the other. Iwaizumi thinks that maybe now that he’s that bit older, he’ll also be that bit braver.

 

Oikawa soon runs out of dogs to pet. Iwaizumi jokes that the owners all left specifically to get away from him. Oikawa pouts and playfully hits Iwaizumi with his scarf. Lady returns to their side and unceremoniously plops down on Iwaizumi’s foot. 

 

“What time did you say we were meeting Kuroo and the others?” Oikawa asks, sitting down on the bench. He wraps his scarf back around his neck.

 

“Five.” Iwaizumi replies. He digs his phone out of his pocket and tilts it toward Oikawa. It’s barely past four o’clock. “We still have plenty of time. Why? Are you tired?” He eyes Oikawa’s leg, cautiously. “Does… your leg hurt?” He knows Oikawa well enough to know he wouldn’t admit it, but also hopes he has enough common sense to  _ not push himself _ . 

 

“No, no, it’s fine!” Oikawa answers hurriedly. Too hurriedly for Iwaizumi’s liking. He narrows his eyes. Oikawa beams at him.

 

“We can sit here for a while and then head over. Does that sound good?” Iwaizumi feels like he’s a green high-schooler asking Oikawa out on a date for the first time. It’s an odd feeling and he can’t shake it.

 

For a while, they sit in silence. Iwaizumi is painfully aware of the heat Oikawa’s body emits, pressed flush against his side, and of the idle jumping of Oikawa’s good leg. Oikawa is the first to speak.

 

“Why did you become a doctor?” Oikawa asks. 

 

Iwaizumi is taken by surprise. It’s true, even before college, he never actually told Oikawa  _ why _ he’d chosen the path he’d chosen. Oikawa’s path - a professional volleyball player - had been obvious since the start, and neither of them really wanted to look beyond the point of no return; the point where  _ their Seijoh _ would be no more.

 

“I…” Iwaizumi wills himself to be completely, blatantly honest. “I wanted to be able to help you. If you ever injured yourself again.”

 

“Oh.” Oikawa flushes a pretty shade of red. He tries to hide it in his scarf, but Iwaizumi catches a glimpse of it anyway. 

 

“I remember the first time you injured your knee.” Iwaizumi continues. They both remember. The dull thud of Oikawa hitting the floor with his entire body weight, legs crumpled under him. Iwaizumi shouting Oikawa’s name and racing across the court. The coach running to join them. It is not a pleasant memory. “You were crying in my shirt on the way to the hospital. I felt… really powerless - you were in pain and I couldn’t… couldn’t help you. I didn’t want to feel like that ever again.” Iwaizumi admits. He glaces back up at Oikawa.

 

Oikawa’s expression is indescribable. He’s staring at Iwaizumi, big, beautiful, brown eyes boring into Iwaizumi’s, mouth slightly ajar. He looks like he’s tethering on the edge of crying and rushing forward to crush Iwaizumi’s ribs in a hug. 

 

“Oh.” Oikawa says.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa is sleeping, all soft sighs and airy breaths, stretched out on Iwaizumi’s couch, Lady at his feet. She wags her tail when Iwaizumi comes into the room, but doesn’t leave her place. Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa has pretty much stolen her affections from him.

 

Iwaizumi gently slips off his shoes and sets them down on their rack - usually, he’d just kick them off and tidy them after he’d eaten - careful not to wake his sleeping friend. His feet are quiet on the wooden floors. He hopes Lady doesn’t bark in greeting, but she’s already laid her head back down. Iwaizumi stops on the way to the kitchen, and looks down at Oikawa’s sleeping form. He feels… weird, doing it, but something about Oikawa draws his eyes to him. 

 

Oikawa whines at something in his dream, and Iwaizumi’s expression softens. His hair is slightly unruly today, sticking up at odd angles, and fanned out on the pillow he’d swiped from Iwaizumi’s bedroom. His features are sharp, but he doesn’t look as tired and bony as he did when he showed up in Iwaizumi’s clinic. Iwaizumi thinks that time off volleyball might actually be good for him. Oikawa’s eyelashes are long, and dark, and Iwaizumi would be a shameless liar if he didn’t admit he was pretty, because Oikawa Tooru is most certainly a beautiful man. 

 

Oikawa turns sharply onto his left side, so that he’s facing the backrest of the sofa. His expression has changed drastically; brow furrowed, jaw clenched. Whatever he’s dreaming about isn’t pleasant.

 

“No…” the sound is so quiet Iwaizumi almost doesn’t hear it. “No!” Dream Oikawa grows more insistent. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. Oikawa usually sleeps like a log, this is something new. Oikawa’s expression shatters. His bottom lip quivers and tears sparkle under closed eyelids. Only now does Iwaizumi notice the trails of dried tears on his cheeks. 

 

“ _ No! Iwa-chan, please! Don’t leave me please! I’ll get better! Haj _ -” 

 

Before he knows what he’s doing, Iwaizumi grabs a hold of Oikawa’s shoulder. He shakes him, gently, then more insistently. Oikawa’s eyes snap open midway through Iwaizumi’s name. He sits up abruptly.

 

“-ime?” Oikawa asks, blankly, looking up at Iwaizumi from under wet lashes. Iwaizumi looks down at him, stunned into silence for a moment.  _ First names _ , what a powerful thing. He can feel a blush forming on his cheeks.

 

“You were crying in your dream.” Iwaizumi says, instead of addressing the issue of his racing heartbeat and the breathtaking proximity of their faces. Oikawa’s face melts from surprise into sadness, as he recalls his dream. 

 

“You were asking me not to leave you…” Iwaizumi adds. Oikawa flushes a most attractive shade of red.

 

“In my dream, it was the Olympics.” Oikawa says, and his voice cracks on the last word. Iwaizumi feels like he already knows what’s coming. “I went to set the ball..” 

 

Iwaizumi walks around and sits beside him on the sofa. “You fell again, didn’t you?”

 

“I fell.” Oikawa confirms. “I was taken away in an ambulance. Coach was there. You were there too. Coach was saying how…” Oikawa swallows down a sob. “...how he can’t have me on the team anymore, because I’m… unreliable. And that this was it, the last straw.” Oikawa takes a deep breath, eyes sparkling with tears he’s desperately trying to hold back. “And you started walking away… and I begged you not to go. But you said… you said I wasn’t  _ your _ captain anymore, now that I couldn’t play-”

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t let him finish, and instead pulls Oikawa into a hug. Oikawa practically latches onto him, clinging to his shirt. He’s not crying anymore, but Iwaizumi can feel just how upset he is. “It doesn’t matter if you can play or not - not to me.” Iwaizumi says, stroking Oikawa’s hair, mussed up from his nap. “You’re still my Tooru.” First names, what a powerful thing.

 

Oikawa doesn’t relax, his muscles are still stiff and his fingers still tugging at Iwaizumi’s shirt, but he sighs deeply, and burrows his face further into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck. Nothing more is said. Nothing more  _ needs _ to be said.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi’s morning routine has changed drastically since Oikawa arrived. Now, the first thing he does when he wakes up is send the traditional “good morning” text, which he knows Oikawa won’t see until he wakes up around mid-day. Then, it’s a quick shower, clothes and breakfast. Take Lady on her walk and give her her breakfast, as well as plenty of well-deserved belly rubs and kisses. Then, before he dashes out the door, he waters the plant he and Oikawa got that day in the gardening centre.

 

It’s a funny thing. Oikawa’s changed a lot of tiny things in Iwaizumi’s apartment. He convinced Iwaizumi to get the plant that now decorated the far corner of his living room. He bought Iwaizumi that stupid hedgehog from the gardening centre, and placed it square on Iwaizumi’s TV stand. There are two new colourful pillows on the sofa, also courtesy of Oikawa’s gardening centre visit. There’s small polaroids of the two of them together tucked into the mirror on Iwaizumi’s bedroom door. There’s a second, bright aqua-blue toothbrush in the bathroom, for Oikawa’s spontaneous sleepovers. Lady has a multitude of new toys, to the point where her bed is almost invisible. There’s a small aroma diffuser plugged into the wall in the hall, and an incense stand on his chest of drawers. There’s a small polaroid picture of Oikawa hugging Iwaizumi - who looks very annoyed - and throwing up a peace sign tucked into the photo part of his wallet. There’s three pictures of them on Iwaizumi’s fridge. His phone lockscreen is a candid photo Kuroo took; him and Oikawa throwing grass at each other like children, Lady in between them, tongue lolling out. Small, almost unnoticeable changes, that make his apartment a little more cosy.

 

Iwaizumi finds himself sitting in his kitchen one morning, staring at his phone screen. He has nowhere to be - his client cancelled their early-morning appointment,  _ after _ Iwaizumi got up early to go to work - and for the first time since he got the photo and Oikawa set it as his lockscreen, he can look at it, really  _ look _ at it.

 

They’re sitting in the tall grass of the less-visited part of the city park. It’s a sunny day, and the sky is a brilliant shade of blue in the background. Oikawa’s sitting on his coat, his scarf and hat lying by his side. Iwaizumi isn’t sure where his own coat went. He can see Kuroo’s red converse, peeking into the photograph from the bottom of the screen. Lady is sitting between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, unaffected by the grass-missiles flying overhead, one ear up, one down, tongue lolling out in a content tiredness.

 

Oikawa is laughing, eyes crinkled into half-moons. He’s facing away from Iwaizumi and blindly throwing two handfuls of grass at him. There’s grass in his hair, sticking up in every angle, there’s grass on his clothes, peeking out over the top of his collar. His cheeks are tinted red from laughter, and he is the image of pure happiness. A smile appears on Iwaizumi’s face just looking at him.

 

Yes, Oikawa changed a lot of things in his life, but Iwaizumi wouldn’t exchange them for anything in the world. He realizes it now, sitting in his kitchen, that Oikawa was the thing he was missing all through college and his early work years.  _ Oikawa _ was the missing piece to his happiness. The missing fragment of his soul.

 

Iwaizumi winces at his own cheesiness. Then he smiles - it’s no use denying it. He’s hopelessly in love with his childhood friend. And damn him if he’s going to chicken out, this time.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa is lying Iwaizumi’s couch, scrolling through the internet on his laptop when Iwaizumi comes home from work. It's a common sight - Oikawa making himself at home in Iwaizumi's apartament. Iwaizumi suspects he feels more at home here than in his own, rented apartament. Oikawa’s leg is propped up on a stack of pillows, and Iwaizumi frowns.

 

“What’s wrong with your leg?” Iwaizumi asks, undoing his tie. He drops it on an armchair, along with his jacket. He’ll put them away later, he’s much too tired now.

 

“Hmm?” Oikawa looks up from his screen, looking a little startled. He smiles when he sees Iwaizumi looking at him. “Oh, nothing! It just hurts a little today. Sawamura said it’s normal.”

 

The name of Oikawa’s physician sounds familiar, but Iwaizumi can’t put a face to a name. He shrugs. “Tell him if it gets worse.” For a split second, Iwaizumi expects an “ _ are you my mom? _ ” comment, but Oikawa just nods, and turns back to his laptop. Iwaizumi drops down onto the armchair, and reclines. Oikawa giggles at something on his screen.

 

“Hey, Oikawa…”

 

Having come to terms with his feelings for Oikawa means that Iwaizumi is more relaxed. He has the air of a man that solved a mystery that’s been bothering him for years - and rightfully so. And now is the time to make a move - Kuroo, Bokuto and Matsukawa, who figured out long before he did, are cheering him on through their group chat. Kuroo already threatened to ask out Oikawa  _ for  _ him, if he chickens out again. It’s now or never.

 

“Yes, Iwa-chan?”

 

“Do you want to get dinner with me?” Iwaizumi asks.

 

“We get dinner together almost every day,” Oikawa frowns. “Why are you suddenly being formal about it?” Iwaizumi should’ve thought about that before, but considering that he almost backed out of asking last-minute, he didn’t do too bad.

 

“I meant… like on a date… kind of thing.” 

 

Iwaizumi flushes and starts tapping away at his phone, trying to look nonchalant, when his heart is ready to burst out of his chest. Oikawa lets out a quiet, squeaky “Oh.” and hides his lower face in the collar of his hoodie - Iwaizumi’s hoodie, most likely stolen from Iwaizumi’s closet when he wasn’t home.

 

“I’d love to.” Oikawa manages. He’s beet-red when Iwaizumi sneaks a glance at him, and he can’t stop himself from smiling.

 

“I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday, if that suits?” Iwaizumi asks. Oikawa nods, and blushes harder. Iwaizumi is aware that he too, is blushing, and he’s glad that Oikawa is too flustered to look in his direction.

 

* * *

 

Saturday can’t come soon enough. On Thursday, Iwaizumi’s secretary has to call his name upwards of ten times before he hears her, and his patients remark on how distracted he is. He simply smiles and tells them he’s just tired. On Friday, he has to rewrite an entire report because he’d filled it in wrong, and he almost spills coffee on a stack of very important documents. Iwaizumi feels like he’s sick.  _ Lovesick _ , Kuroo helpfully supplied with a smirk when he visited the clinic that Friday, and Iwaizumi smacked him over the head with a wad of paper. Kuroo’s tragic bedhead didn’t even budge.

 

And finally,  _ finally _ it’s seven o’clock on Saturday evening. Lady has gotten her run, as well as a well-deserved amount of affection. Iwaizumi’s showered, dressed and is standing in his hallway, staring at himself in the mirror. It’s been a while since he’d dressed up this nice. Sure, his work attire is formal to semi-formal, but this… Black suit, white shirt, black tie, black shoes so clean he can see his face from a most unflattering angle. Iwaizumi gives himself one last once-over in the mirror, coat and car keys in hand.

 

“Don’t fuck this up.” He tells his reflection. His reflection says nothing.

 

Iwaizumi arrives in front of Oikawa’s apartment complex five minutes before eight. He takes his time walking up the stairs, and comes to a halt in front of Oikawa’s door at precisely eight. So far, so good. He can feel his heart drumming in his chest as he raises his hand to ring the doorbell. There’s the sound of hurried footsteps and someone fiddling with the lock before the door is jerked open and Oikawa appears.

 

Iwaizumi freezes, dumbstruck. The last time he’d seen Oikawa in a suit was at their graduation, and he’d  _ severely _ misjudged how stunning Oikawa would look. Oikawa’s a little breathless, as if he’d ran to the door from the other side of the apartament, but he’s trying not to let it show. His hair is perfectly styled, every curl in it’s place. He’s wearing a deep blue suit, with a gray vest and a white shirt. It’s perfectly tailored to his body shaped and  _ oh _ , Iwaizumi’s staring.

 

“Hello,” Oikawa seems to enjoy Iwaizumi’s reaction. He beams at him.

 

“Hi.” Iwaizumi says, dumbly. “You ready?” 

 

As Oikawa locks up his apartament, Iwaizumi can’t help but look at him again. He’s beautiful - he always was, but there’s something about him now, when he’s older, that makes him even more attractive than before. Iwaizumi offers his arm to Oikawa, and he takes it. They both stiffen - neither realized what they were doing, acting on impulse. Oikawa is the first to relax. He pulls Iwaizumi a little closer, his fingers gently pressing into Iwaizumi’s bicep. Iwaizumi is sure Oikawa can feel his erratic heartbeat as they wait for the lift.

 

They make smalltalk on their short drive to the restaurant. It’s slightly awkward, even though they’re very close, they’re not used to this  _ atmosphere _ . 

 

“So, how did you find this restaurant?” Oikawa asks, peering up at the sign as Iwaizumi parks. “It doesn’t seem like your usual kind of place, Iwa-chan.”

 

“Kuroo actually found it.” Iwaizumi replies, looking over his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t wreck the back of the very expensive-looking car parked behind them. “I was looking for somewhere where you wouldn’t be bothered by fans and paparazzi, and he came up with this place.”

 

“That’s sweet of you.” Oikawa says, smiling. “Thank you.” Iwaizumi just huffs.

 

Oikawa was right. The restaurant is  _ far _ from Iwaizumi’s usual - he prefers BBQ restaurants or the odd fast food outlet. He’s not overly fond of the extravagant kind of establishment. There’s a waitress ready to greet them as soon as they step through the glass doors. Another takes their coats while she directs them to the back, to a secluded table. Iwaizumi notices a few of the fellow customers whip out their phones and start taking pictures of them. Oikawa doesn’t let go of Iwaizumi’s arm, nor does he try to hide it.

 

The restaurant is all deep reds, browns and golds. It’s the kind of place where celebrities and high society like to spend their free time. It’s also the appropriate place to take your sporting superstar best friend out on a date, Iwaizumi thinks. Iwaizumi is quick to decide on his meal. Honey dipt chicken was something he’d always wanted to try, since his mother raved over it. She’d had it on her anniversary trip with Iwaizumi’s father. Oikawa on the other hand, took his sweet time.

 

When he eventually decides on something and sets his menu to the side, Iwaizumi can see the blush on his cheeks and the way he lifts his uncharacteristically shy eyes from the table to meet Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi smiles at him, and Oikawa returns a shy smile. Shyness wasn’t a trait Iwaizumi would’ve thought Oikawa to possess, but he might just have to work with it.

 

Their waitress arrives to take their order, and Iwaizumi can’t help but notice the curious looks she gives them both. She lights the candles standing on their table and leaves, with one curious look over her shoulder.

 

“I think she recognized me.” Oikawa says, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

 

“It’d be hard not to.” Iwaizumi remarks. “Your face has been everywhere, these last few years. Saw it on a hand cream, once.” Iwaizumi’s brow furrows at the memory, and Oikawa laughs. His laugh is loud in the quiet restaurant, and he clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle it. A few guests look around, searching for the source of the noise, but Iwaizumi finds himself smiling anyway. “It was a weird experience.”

 

“I didn’t know they made  _ hand cream _ with my face on it.” Oikawa laughs. “I know I modelled for an underwear company, but not hand cream.”

 

Iwaizumi chokes on his water. “That was  _ you _ ?” Oikawa looks at him, curiously. Iwaizumi starts to laugh, recalling the image of Oikawa sprawled on a sofa, velvet strategically draped over his midriff. “Oh my god. Matsukawa was convinced it was just someone that  _ looked like you _ .”

 

Oikawa flushes. “I… admit the shoot was a little bit scandalous. But my fans liked it.” The tips of his ears glow red. “What about you?” 

 

Iwaizumi stops laughing and wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes. There are probably customers glaring daggers at him, but he doesn’t care. “What about me?”

 

“Did you know it was me?” Oikawa asks, resting his chin in his hands. He looks at Iwaizumi curiously, over the flickering flame of the candle. Iwaizumi hesitates.

 

“I… I think I’d be able to recognize you anywhere.” he admits. “Even if I was blind. There’s just… something about spending your entire life with someone that can’t be reversed by a few years of lost contact.”

 

It’s true. Mrs Oikawa and Mrs Iwaizumi were friends before they married and had them - Iwaizumi and Oikawa were practically destined to become friends. Oikawa is such a big part of Iwaizumi’s life up to this point - particularly of his early childhood and high school - that even after losing contact for several years, Iwaizumi would bet that he could recognize Oikawa by the sound of his breathing alone.

 

Oikawa’s blush - which had not yet left his face entirely - deepends. “Oh.” He looks away, staring at the tiny, golden roses shimmer on the wall. “I… I’m sorry.”

  
  
“Sorry?” Iwaizumi blinks. “For what?”

 

“For not keeping in contact with you. I-”

 

“ _ Oikawa _ .” Iwaizumi interrupts, holding up his hand. Oikawa stops. “Stop apologizing. It happens, and it’s as much my fault.” Iwaizumi doesn’t like to admit it, not even to himself, but there were thousands of opportunities over the years when he could have picked up his phone and texted or called and rekindled the lost friendship. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Oikawa smiles brightly. “Thank you.”

 

The waitress arrives with their food, and the moment is gone, replaced with the delightful smell of high quality food. Neither Oikawa nor Iwaizumi hesitate to start eating.

 

* * *

 

The night air is cold against Iwaizumi’s hot cheeks as he steps out of the restaurant. High above the city, the night sky stretches like a canopy. Oikawa stops beside him in front of the restaurant and tilts his head up.

 

“You can’t really see many stars because we’re in the city,” he says. “But it’s still really beautiful.”

 

And in that moment, Iwaizumi is blessed with an idea. Perhaps he’ll regret it tomorrow morning when Lady’s tugging at his duvet because she’s hungry, but right now, he’s filled with a childish excitement.

 

“Hey, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi asks, a grin spreading across his face. “Want to go stargazing?”

 

Oikawa’s eyes widen with glee. “ _God y_ _ es! _ ”

 

* * *

 

It’s a cold night, but Iwaizumi shrugs off his coat and lays it flat on the grass for them to sit. They aren’t very far from the city, but just far enough for a decent stargazing opportunity. Oikawa’s coat joins Iwaizumi’s, and they make themselves comfortable in the tall grass. Oikawa lies down close to Iwaizumi, their sides pressed together, and tilts his head up, staring at the sky, eyes full of wonder.

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t even think about looking at the sky, when the biggest, most beautiful star is right beside him. Oikawa’s face is faintly illuminated by the moon and Iwaizumi’s phone, which is doubling for a lantern. His eyes have captured the light of a million stars, and he looks so  _ happy _ , so at peace. They were nine years old the last time this happened.

 

“Look! A shooting star!” Oikawa exclaims, pointing at the sky with the excitement of a nine year old boy. “Make a wish, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s tone is the exact same as back then. The joy in his eyes and the cute way he closes his eyes and pretends to - or perhaps he  _ actually  _ makes a wish - is all the same. Iwaizumi finds himself smiling as he lies there, on his back, Oikawa’s hair tickling his face.

 

Oikawa sits up, and looks at him. “Did you make a wish?” Iwaizumi laughs and sits up, rolling his shoulders. The ground is harder than he’d anticipated, and he’d gotten used to the soft mattress. 

 

“Did you?” He counters with a question. The grin on Oikawa’s face tells him that yes, he did. “What did you wish for?”

 

“ _ If I tell you it won’t come true~ _ ” Oikawa sing-songs, shaking his head like a little child. He’s in a playful mood, it seems. 

 

Iwaizumi laughs. “Come on, tell me.” He pokes Oikawa between the ribs. When the latter squeals, Iwaizumi attacks him, until Oikawa is wheezing with laughter, it’s sweet sound breaking through the silence of the countryside at night. Iwaizumi feels like a kid when Oikawa tackles him and they roll in the grass. He doesn’t care that he’ll ruin his fine, white shirt with grass stains, because Oikawa is hopelessly laughing and he can’t hold back the happiness bubbling up inside of him.

 

Oikawa lets out a startled yelp when they suddenly crest a small hill and fall downwards. Iwaizumi holds out his hands just in time to stop himself from crushing Oikawa against the ground with his body weight. Oikawa starts giggling again, then helplessly laughing, his legs tangled with Iwaizumi’s.

 

Iwaizumi smiles, and looks down at him. Oikawa’s hair is dishevelled, there’s pieces of grass woven into it. He’s laughing so hard there are tears trickling down his cheeks, but he’s  _ happy _ . And if he’s happy, Iwaizumi is happy. 

 

Iwaizumi leans down and catches Oikawa’s lips with his own, cutting off his laughter. Oikawa makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat, but his eyes shut and he relaxes into the kiss. Oikawa’s hand comes up to run gently through Iwaizumi’s hair.

 

Iwaizumi isn’t sure what he’s feeling when he breaks the kiss, but Oikawa pulls him back down for another. He isn’t  _ sure _ but whatever it is, it’s making his heart full to the point where it might burst, it feels warm in every inch of his body and it’s making his head spin. He’s breathless when they finally pull away. He rests his forehead against Oikawa’s, and delights in the moment. It’s quiet - the hum of the city is long gone, and it’s just him, Oikawa, and the night sky.

 

“I love you.” Oikawa’s voice is barely above a hushed whisper. Iwaizumi lifts his head to look at him, really  _ look _ at him. His phone is lying somewhere on their coats, but the moon provides enough light for Iwaizumi to see the tears sparkling in Oikawa’s eyes, and the overwhelming  _ love _ shining in Oikawa’s eyes as he reaches up to stroke Iwaizumi’s cheek. “I love you.” Oikawa repeats.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Oikawa laughs happily. Overhead, an owl cries out mid-flight.

 

* * *

 

The ball clears the net in a high arc and slams into the court. The scoreboard lets out a  _ beep! _ as the score changes and the referee blows his whistle. The crowd errupts into cheers, whistles and applause, but from where Iwaizumi is standing on the sidelines, all he can see is Oikawa’s grin as he fist-pumps the air.

 

He’d done it. He’d driven the final point home for his team in an Olympics final. His team-mates are going insane, even good old stoic Ushijima is running up to him. Hinata looks like he’s about to pass out from exhaustion, but his eyes are shining like the floodlights illuminating the court. But Iwaizumi has eyes only for Oikawa.

 

Oikawa’s celebrating with his team-mates, until his eyes meet Iwaizumi’s. He stills. The libero - Nishinoya - follows his gaze and grins. He whispers something in Oikawa’s ear, gives him a pat on the back, and jumps up to tackle Ushijima in a hug. Oikawa is left standing alone, looking at Iwaizumi.

 

He takes one step forward, then two, until he breaks into a sprint across the court. Iwaizumi barely has time to assess the situation before Oikawa’s pulling him in for a kiss. The crowd around them goes silent. Or perhaps that is the drumming of Iwaizumi’s heart tuning out the world. Oikawa’s lips still have that effect on him, now as much as they did that first time under the stars. Iwaizumi wraps his hands around Oikawa’s waist and pulls him close. He can hear Hinata’s excited yell, and slowly, slowly the world starts tuning back in.

 

Oikawa pulls away to give him a mischievous grin, before kissing him again. Iwaizumi hears the sound of a hundred cameras, all taking a thousand pictures a minute, but he doesn’t care. Oikawa chose this particular match as an occasion for their relationship to go public, and Iwaizumi is perfectly content with letting that happen. He’s never been more proud of his best friend, of his setter, of his captain. Of the love of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as something self-indulgent over the space of a year with long breaks in between, hence the awkward timeline. I decided to share it nonetheless, should it be to your liking (somehow). It ended up very different from where I'd planned it, and I admit, it's because the amount of information about the rehabilitation process itself is SO LOW, I didn't have patience. Also witnessing someone tearing their ACL is not fun, just speaking from a personal viewpoint there. Yikes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this mess! 
> 
> You can come yell at me on Twitter: [@merrihael](https://twitter.com/merrihael)!
> 
> (P.S.: sorry about the hecked up writing styles. My writing style changed as I wrote (a year is a long time) and when I tried to go back and re-write some of the starting scenes it just made it worse soooo...)


End file.
